Chapter 2

On my birthday, Lucas handed me the flowers and the necklace.

Exactly as promised.

The plastic petals had been crushed in transit. I straightened them while he watched.

Later, in the back of a cab, he asked, “You don't think I cheaped out?”

The upholstery smelled of old cigarettes. He had been breathing through his mouth since we'd climbed in.

I rolled down the window. Cool air moved over my face.

“No. I found a vase for the flowers. They look pretty on my desk with the lamp on.”

That part was true.

He glanced at me. “I thought you might be upset.”

“It's my birthday. I'd rather enjoy it.”

He took my hand and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles, studying me as if the answer were written somewhere on my skin.

I knew he didn't believe me. The truth was too simple for him.

I used to like these ordinary evenings with him. I hadn't needed a chauffeur or an expensive restaurant.

But I'd heard him laughing with his friends. Sitting beside him now couldn't make me forget that.

The cab stopped outside a diner tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered pawnshop. He must have spent longer finding somewhere this cheap than he ever had choosing a restaurant he actually liked.

I caught his arm.

“Let me get dinner.”

“It's your birthday.”

“I know. I want to.”

“No.” He sounded almost offended. “I said I'd take you out.”

I didn't argue.

Inside, he hovered over the cracked vinyl booth before sitting. When the server brought menus, he kept his forearms carefully off the table.

I looked around. Grease had gathered along the kitchen pass. The ketchup bottle was sticky. Lucas stared at a smear on his fork.

Our first date had been worse.

He'd taken me to a food truck parked beside a muddy lot. A man who had grown up eating in private dining rooms sat on a folding stool, holding his shoes clear of the ground.

When the wind blew smoke from the grill into his face, he covered his nose.

I had checked the few bills in my wallet.

“We could split something somewhere else,” I'd offered. “If you'd be more comfortable.”

He folded his arms.

“This is fine. I told you what dating me would be like.”

He hadn't eaten a bite. Hadn't even opened his bottle of water.

Tonight, he wiped his cutlery with a napkin and asked the server which burger came with fries.

He was getting better at this.

The server asked whether we were celebrating anything.

Before I could answer, Lucas said, “Just dinner.”

I folded the paper napkin in my lap.

When he went to wash his hands, she came back with an extra spoon and a slice of pie.

“On the house,” she said. “Saw the flowers.”

I thanked her. The kindness caught me off guard.

Lucas returned and glanced at the plate.

“Did you order dessert?”

“She brought it over.”

He relaxed, then pushed the second spoon toward me.

“You like the crust. Have mine.”

I hated that he remembered. I hated that it still pleased me.

I ate slowly, trying to decide how both feelings could fit inside the same ordinary evening.

I rested my chin on my hand and watched him.

Once, I would have mistaken practice for belonging.